


Not Until You're 30!

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Series: The Best Gift Of All Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Curtain Fic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Hot Sex, M/M, Protective Dean, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Sexy Times, brief references to past domestic abuse and violence, doting parents, sam and dean are dads, sam and dean are married, sam and dean are not brothers, time stamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: Dean deals (or tries to deal) with the news that 15 year old Emily is ready to date.  Sam distracts and calms the protective hunter.This is a timestamp or short follow up to our Gift!Verse Christmas story.  It takes place about 10 years after the first fic in the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/30%20banner_zpscdq53jb3.jpg.html)
> 
> Original banner made for us by smut-slut; she allowed us to change as the series progresses

Emily brought the truck to a sudden halt on the shoulder of a rarely used dirt road, kicking dirt and dust up in the air. In the distance, she could see her pops in the field. He'd already set up for shooting practice and he didn't look too happy about her being late. Grabbing her pistol from under the seat and shoving it into the back of her pants, she jumped out and slammed the door shut. Walking fast, she gave him a broad smile, hoping she hadn't put him into a bad mood. That wouldn’t be at all good since she was already nervous about breaking her news to him. 

"Sorry!" She said, a little breathless when she reached him. "I had stuff to do and then I ... sorry," she repeated, throwing her arms around Dean and kissing his cheek. 

Dean had been pacing, fidgeting with the targets he had set up for his daughter and watching the road for any sign of her. He'd looked at his watch countless times and was getting ready to call her and find out where the hell she was when he saw the trail of dust getting kicked up and the sound of the old Ford pickup they'd rebuilt together.

He hugged her back, giving a little extra-tight squeeze. Fifteen years old and she was already five foot eight. It was a pretty good bet she was going to end up five ten or maybe even hit six feet before she stopped growing. 

Dean refused to be to her what his father had been to him, a drill sergeant, but he also wasn't going to let her slack or take this lightly. "Emily, you're the one who's been badgering me and your dad about this. You wanted your target practice stepped up. Sam made it perfectly clear, school comes first, but we're not half-assing target practice. If you can't keep up with both, then target practice is getting dropped back to weekends only," Dean told her firmly.

"Okay, okay. My head's in the game, I swear," she promised. "I can handle both, you know I can." Giving him a tentative smile, she pulled her weapon out. "It's clean," she offered, having cleaned it last night, _before_ her homework, but he didn’t need to know that. Pulling out a magazine, she loaded her pistol in front of his watchful eyes.

"Well, I _think_ you can, and I really hate being wrong. And Sammy'll have my hide if your grades slip even a decimal point and you know it." He gave a nod. "Okay, load a bullet in the chamber, take off the safety, and I want you to start shooting bottles until you run out of ammo, but," he said holding up a finger, "You shoot the far-right bottle, then the far-left bottle, then the far right, then the far left, back and forth. I want a strong steady pace, but only as fast as you can be without missing a shot. Got it?"

"Got it. I've been practicing on the Wii, you should try it some time," she said, grinning because the one and only time she'd managed to get him to try playing a game on it, she'd beaten the pants off him. To be fair, it had been years ago, and he'd agreed to play Dance Revolution which, yeah, her dad had been right when he'd said it was a miracle that she'd gotten Dean to dance to anything. 

She stood like he'd taught her, took a breath, and then started firing. Her first shot missed. Cursing under her breath because this always happened. It was like she always needed to warm up first, then she’d hit her target. Moving her aim to the other side, she squeezed the trigger. The bottle shattered and she quickly took aim at the bottle to the far left, made her mark and shifted her aim.

"Damned computer games don't have the accuracy needed, or wind to compensate for, or weight of the gun, or sun in your eyes," Dean grumbled. He gave a slight shake of his head when she missed her first shot like she always did. Every time. Every, freaking, time. Didn't matter if it was a gun, shotgun, crossbow, whatever. That first shot was always a write-off. He didn't swear, hearing her curse to herself about it. Damn, if Sammy heard some of that language coming from Emily's mouth, Dean would be the one in the doghouse. He bit his tongue though because he didn't want to distract her...at least not yet.

She needed to get this right. Wanted it, not just for herself, but for him. She'd just bet he was holding his breath, tensing, willing her to get it right. Pressing her lips firmly together, she shot again, and again, and again, her lips starting to quirk at the corners when she knew, just knew, she'd gotten into her win-rhythm.

Dean watched with anticipation as more bottles shattered. She shifted her aim back and forth smoothly, holding the gun properly and keeping it steady. One bottle was left. _Click._ That first wasted bullet had cost her. He grabbed the gun from her hands and shoved another loaded gun into them. "Fire! Nail that bastard now! Don't think! Just do it!" 

She was only a little startled and knew better than to crack the joke that was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she did exactly as he said, popping off another round immediately and busting the last bottle. Letting out an audible sigh, she almost gave him a hug, but it was as if he read her mind and gave her a look as a reminder. Slapping the safety on, she couldn't repress her smile. "I know... missed the first one, again," she said, searching his eyes.

"Not with your new gun," he said, trying to keep the smile from his lips. "Your first-shot curse is officially broken… you like your new gun? And I mean right out of the factory new, no pawn shop second-hand crap. You're the first owner of it." 

"What?!" She looked down at the gun, then at him. "It's mine. I mean really mine?" She gave a yell, and this time did put her arms around his shoulders, tossing back her hair when he spun her around. "Thank you," she said when he'd set her down. She was grinning from ear-to-ear as she ran her hand over it. 

"Again? This time I'm really going to kick ass," she vowed, already heading over to the bottles that were stacked on the ground. "I bet the curse is broken." At least she hoped. "That was pretty sneaky, by the way," she told him as she started setting up the bottles.

"Of course it was sneaky. Your pops has always been sneaky and that's the only way to break curses like those. Your next round of shots are already set up. Look out into the field. You can take them out in any order you want but," and he gave her a grim smile, "you're down one bullet which means one of your shots has to take out two targets. Shoot from the fence line." 

"Where?" When she turned and saw what he meant, her smile dropped away. Her brow creased slightly as she walked up to the fence. "Two at a time, huh? Easy as pie." Course she was imitating his way of talking, hoping it would give her confidence. She'd never tried it before, though she'd seen Pops show off plenty of times with shots like that. For a long time, she stared at the set-up, trying to figure out what angles might work. "So, this your way of getting me to learn pool?" she asked, worrying her lower lip as she raised her gun and started to aim.

"Your dad still beats you at pool, kiddo. And that's just sad, 'cause he's not that good. And do you have your earplugs in, Em? Sam'll kill me if you don't at least have earplugs in while your target practicing." He smiled to himself at her bravado and couldn't decide if she was more like him or like Sam at the moment. 

She made a face, then lowering her weapon, started to check her pockets. "I was just about to put them on. I did forget the armor though." This was just like when she'd started biking and her dad had her in a helmet and elbow and knee guards. Letting out a sigh, she started putting them in her ear. Maybe the earplugs were a good thing, in case Pops wanted to shout or anything, once she told him. Okay, she had to clear her mind now.

"We won't tell Sam about the armor," Dean said. Most places they did target practice there wasn't any need for body armor as far as Dean was concerned, but Sam had insisted and so Dean made her wear it… most times. She ought to have full blown hearing protection on, but the earplugs would do a decent enough job for now. He most definitely didn't want her ending up hard of hearing because of target practice and them being lazy, but he needed to go out and get her some new hearing protection and he just hadn't had time. He moved up closer to watch her as she took aim, focusing everything on the targets in front of her. _Don't you dare miss that first shot, Em,_ he thought, hoping against hope they could start a new tradition.

She steadied her hand, resting it on her other wrist and flexing her finger against the trigger. _I can do this. I will do this._ Forcing herself to unclench her teeth, Emily took a quick side glance at her pops. He was concentrating so hard you'd think he was the one doing the shooting. Once again, her lips curved upwards, but as she looked at her target, they flattened into a thin line. Slowly, she pulled the trigger. The split second between her firing and the bullet striking the bottle dead on seemed to take forever. Green glass shattered into a million beautiful pieces right before her eyes. "Yes! Curse broken," she nodded, licking her lips and aiming again.

"Remember what Han said to Luke. Don't get cocky, kid," Dean told her, but he couldn't keep the shit-eating grin from slipping onto his face and watched as she marked her next target.

"Do you _really_ think Han, of all people, had any business saying that?" she asked, her own grin matching his, though she concentrated on the targets. She took out a few bottles, then moved her position, ready to try to hit two targets with one bullet. Wordlessly, she looked over at him, hoping for a hint of whether she was right.

"Absolutely. He'd paid his dues, he'd been in the military, and that stripe on his pants was a military award. Not to mention he made the Kessel run in record time," Dean said sagely. Seeing her look to him for a hint he raised an eyebrow. "When you're on a hunt, don't forget to look up for things. Or maybe, you know, something hanging from a tree..." 

She looked up. "Oh!" Exchanging a look with him, she targeted the rather large can he'd left balanced precariously on a branch. Firing on it, she watched as it fell and knocked over a couple of the bottles he'd set up on a crate under the tree. "That's kind of tricky," she half complained. It was the first time he'd placed a non-target for her to use. Glancing at him, she went ahead and finished clearing the rest of the targets.

When she turned around, placing her back against the fence, she knew she'd done pretty good. "Dad told me you're making your spaghetti special on Friday. Think you could change that to... Saturday?" she asked, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Or tomorrow."

Dean frowned a moment. Em loved his spaghetti. "Something going on Friday night at school?" Dean ventured, wondering if he needed to start planning on going to athletic competitions or something to watch Emily. Maybe she'd signed up for something and hadn't wanted to tell them until she got accepted? Or maybe her and couple of her girlfriends wanted to catch a movie?

Looking down and putting the safety on as she struggled for words, Em shifted her weight from foot-to-foot, then looked back up and shook her head 'no.' Some strands of hair slipped across her face, and she blew them away impatiently. "I'm... Thing is..." A nervous laugh escaped her. "I got asked out and... it's just a movie and getting some food afterwards and..."

Dean stared at his daughter a moment, her words not really sinking in or making sense. "Asked out… by your girlfriends?" he asked. "Jen or Danielle? Or that new kid, Kristy?" 

"Um... no. His name's Greg. Gregory. We were talking about movies and I said I want to see The Matrix, and he said 'when,' then... it's not as corny as it sounds," she quickly added, her face coloring a bit. "But I don't want to miss spaghetti night either, ‘cause you know how much I love it and... Pops... say something." She braced.

A boy. Asked his daughter out. Didn't come and ask him if he could. Not that Dean had ever approached a parent, but that was beside the point. This was his daughter, dammit! He needed a drink, but refused to pull out his flask in front of her. "And what did Sam say?" His voice was a little rough.

"You mean after he asked for Greg's social security number and a copy of his driver's license?" Seeing Dean's expression didn't soften, she sobered. "He said if it's okay with you, it's okay with him. And that he wants to meet him. And that I have to be back by 11:30. Oh, I also have to call home... I don't remember the rest, it was kind of a list," she said, frowning.

"You're not even sixteen, Em. For a first date, 11:30? No way," Dean said then took a slow deep breath, trying to keep himself and his voice under control. "You can go to the movie, then go have coffee with him or soda and pie at the diner. First date, I want you home at 10 pm. He behaves, everything goes well, he's responsible and gets you back on time, we'll talk about extending your curfew. You call when you reach the coffee shop or diner. That also gives you an out if maybe he's all hands in the theater. If the movie was 'funky', Sam and I will be there in record time to pick you up." He watched his daughter's reactions and finally added, "Assuming Sam agrees with this. And we do want to meet him when he picks you up. Just a handshake is good enough."

Her face fell. "But the movie starts at 8:30, it won't be over until 10:15." The long silence told her she might not get her way, not this time. "I'll see what time the earlier show is," she finally said, but added, "everyone else is going to the later show. There's safety in numbers, right?" She cocked her head to the side and touched his arm. "Come on, Pops, if anyone knows how to take care of themselves, it's me. I _know_ weird, and he's not weird... He's a nice, normal guy and he's not gonna try anything, you don't have to worry about that." 

"Numbers can also mean peer pressure." Dean harrumphed. "So how many are going, is this a group of you all riding together? Where does he plan to take you for dinner?" Dean leaned against the fence beside Emily and looked down at her. Damn she was growing up just too freaking fast.

"It's a bunch of us meeting up at the movies, maybe six or seven. After that, we're just going across the street to get burgers. You know, at Chubbies." As she looked up at him and saw the worry lines between his eyebrows, she hoped this would make him feel better. It was a burger joint that everyone always went to after the movies and he knew the workers there quite well. "Nothing wild." She nodded, and gave him a smile. "Promise."

After dry scrubbing his face and giving a sigh, he finally, reluctantly, nodded. "All right. 11:30 firm on the curfew. When you get to Chubbies, you call. When you leave Chubbies, you call, and no stopping along the way home." After another moment he gave a second sigh. "I'm guessing you want permission to wear makeup? And what do you plan on wearing? Do we need to like, uh, take you shopping or something?" Every word was killing Dean. Dammit, he didn't want his little girl growing up, dating, nothing. He wanted his little Emily that drew Christmas trees, and wanted to color eggs, and innocently threatened to paint his fingernails with her pink fingernail polish.

Emily just barely suppressed the 'yay' that was about to burst out of her. "11:30 and call twice, check." She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." When she pulled away, she was still smiling broadly and reached out to smooth out the furrows between his brows, a habit she hadn't quite broken out of. "You do know I've been wearing make-up for a year now? But I like to stick to lip gloss," she admitted, "See you at home?" Turning, she started to walk away, then turned back around and spread her arms out at her sides. "No shopping required, I know _exactly_ what I'm going to wear."

"Lip gloss, that's like chap stick and it's a necessity here. Yeah, I knew you wore that. Sam and I, we get ta approve your date clothes, so you can show us tonight just how you're going to dress for Greg." Dean crossed the distance between them. "Em..."

"You're making me do a dry run?" she asked, her eyes widening with incredulity as he approached her. "Serious?"

"Serious. It'll ease both our minds or we'll be wondering what you're planning to wear until we finally see it on Friday and you don't want us that cranky." He handed her a holster for her new gun, and the old gun she'd first started shooting with. "You wanted the target practice, you clean the weapons. You know the rules. Now git. See you in a bit."

She gave him a salute, then headed off toward the truck, at first chuckling under her breath, and then happily laughing out loud. No, that hadn't gone half bad.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Sam asked, his head turning to follow Emily as she breezed her way from the door to the stairs, and grabbed the railing to look back at him.

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Uh huh," she said, smiling.

"What did he say?"

"He said 'sure'. I'm really going!" With that, she headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Sure, huh?" Sam's doubt-filled expression followed her all the way up the stairs until she disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

When he heard the roar of the Impala pulling up, Sam got up from behind the desk and piled up papers to quickly pour a glass of whiskey. By the time he had the front door open, Dean was already on the porch. Searching his face, Sam silently passed the glass to him.

Dean met Sam's gaze, accepted the drink, and tossed it back, then wordlessly held out to Sam a large latte from the coffee shop and a bag from the chocolate shop that held four big chocolate-covered strawberries.

Sam's gaze dropped to the comfort food Dean had picked up for him. If he didn't feel like the weight of the world was crushing his shoulders, he might have smiled. Instead, he wordlessly accepted the gifts and took a long sip of the sweet, creamy coffee, letting it soothe him. "I needed that," he said, finally kissing Dean lightly, before leaning against the door frame and looking out at the yard. "Our little girl is growing up."

"Yeah. I am not thrilled about this dating at fifteen thing. But I don't think I'd be thrilled with her dating at any age, so better she starts while we still have some control over it. She has to give us a fashion show tonight of what she's wearing. How old is this Greg kid? You do a background check on him?" Dean asked as he slipped his arm around Sam's waist and guided him out to the porch swing.

"Seventeen," Sam answered with a slight wince. Sitting down, he rested his arms on his thighs and looked over at Dean. "The family is new in town. He seems to be clean. Found nothing on his family either. His father sells real estate. I drove by his office and only just stopped myself from walking in and asking to be shown some houses," he admitted with a wry smile. 

"Seventeen as in just learned to drive and just turned seventeen or seventeen going on statutory rape?" Dean asked grimly.

"Dean." Sam's voice rose slightly in reproach. He stared hard at one of the strawberries in the box on his lap, and finally selected one. "They're going to a movie, not--" He bit the head off the strawberry, let out a sigh, and looked out into the distance.

"I just remember how I was when I was seventeen. I wouldn't let a seventeen-year-old me date our daughter. I know, a movie and burgers, and directly home. I think we ought to have a rifle or two sitting on the porch when the kid comes by to pick her up. Just to let the kid know, and, I don't know, some holy water lemonade?" he suggested.

"You want to chase him away?" Sam started to chuckle, liking the idea a little too much, but knowing it was unrealistic. "She'd never forgive us." He put his hand on Dean's thigh and gave it a squeeze. "When she was a little girl. I mean before ... before you came into our lives, I used to worry so much. Would she ever see her fifteenth or sixteenth birthday? Could she have a normal life... dates... or would one of Dex's guys--" He closed his eyes as he recalled the 'initiations' that girls who joined Dex's gang went through. "I wished, with all my heart, I wished I could get her away, and give her that."

He swallowed, and turned to Dean. "Between you and me, we've done that. Given her _normal_ , well except for ghosts and goblins, but as she's told me a hundred times, she deals with that. Apparently it's cool." He smiled a little, then shook his head. "She's strong and knows her own mind and I don't think she's easily influenced. Oh God, remember when she was at a sleepover and we caught her creeping into the house at 3:00 a.m.? We couldn't even get mad because she'd walked out on a Ouija board session." She'd only been twelve, but that's when they'd gotten her a cell phone.

Dean rested his hand on Sam's and returned the affectionate squeeze. "Yeah, I know she's stubborn and strong-willed, and doesn't put up with crap if she doesn't want to, but guys can be persuasive. I guess we're lucky she hasn't already bugged us to go out on ‘dates’ when she was younger. Probably because--probably because I'm the psycho, and we're together. I've overheard a few folks now and again. They 'like' us, but don't want their kids dating ours. You know, maybe--maybe only one of us should meet the kid. I'd hate Em's night to get ruined just ‘cause the guy can't deal with you and me being married."

"First of all, you're the farthest thing from _psycho._ I should know." Though Dean could come on strong when necessary, and some of the locals remembered his hell raising days, Sam didn't like any comparisons that equated him with Dexter in any way. "Second, everyone in school knows we’re married. After Em kicked Cody Brown's ass in seventh grade, no one's bothered her about it. Course it might have helped that I had a chat with him," Sam snickered.

"You told me to leave his ass alone!" Dean complained then smirked, "but I had a talk with the little shit, too."

"You did?" Sam gave a quiet laugh. "I, ah, told him if he didn't leave her alone, I could nail him with my gun from a field away, and that you could do it blindfolded. I might have made it obvious I was packing." He had the grace to look sheepish, but his curiosity won out. "What... what did you tell him?"

Now it was Dean's turn to look sheepish. "I told him I knew he knew the rumors that I was all into black mojo and that the next time I dealt with a dark S.O.B., I'd tell it to come visit him one night in his bedroom if he didn't leave Em alone."

"That's... terrible... awful... worse than what I did." Sam tried to chide Dean but he couldn't help being a little pleased, and it showed. Wrongly or rightly, the kid had been messing with their daughter, and he couldn't judge impartially where Em was concerned.

They swayed on the porch swing in silence for a while. "I think we should just be our normal selves. Even if he's new in town, Em will either have told him about us, or if he's weird about it, she won't want to be with him." Sam turned his head just as Emily waltzed out the door.

"Still worrying about _my_ date?" she asked, taking the rubber band out of her hair and redoing her ponytail. "He knows. I mean, I do have your wedding picture plastered on my locker."

"You do?" Sam asked.

"Course not." She laughed and reached for one of the strawberries. "You're not celebrities. It’s in my wallet." She grinned at them.

"Well, who do you have on your locker. Justin Bieber?" Sam asked, making a face.

"Oh, Dad! I'm going to the store to get ink for the printer, and ice cream." She waggled her brows at Dean. "I think I smell pie in the oven," she said, then turned and traipsed down the stairs toward the truck.

As soon as the truck took off, Sam looked over at Dean. "The latte and strawberries were good, but I could use some _comfort sex_. You think fifteen minutes--"

"Pie?" Dean said, his head swiveling towards Sam and licking his lips. Sam had become one helluva a baker when it came to pies. And, Dean thought smugly, Sam couldn't sneak any of his damned broccoli into it. "When does the pie need to be pulled out of the oven?" 

"You're worrying about the damned pie when…?" Sam huffed.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "I seem to remember you and me hot and heavy in your work room when the timer went off at a damned inconvenient moment. I'm just making certain we won't get interrupted, _and_ that the pie won't burn."

"Uh huh." Sam gave him a look that spoke volumes. "Alright, how about a make-out session in the kitchen? We won't get too 'hot and heavy' and the pie will be fine, and we'll hear Em drive up." He started to get up, but stopped. "You feeling better? About this dating thing?" 

"No, we're not making out in the kitchen. I'd rather throw you over my shoulder and haul you upstairs to the bedroom for some major hot and heavy comfort sex." He made a face. "And no, I’m not feeling better. One of us is going to have to give her 'the talk.'"

Groaning, Sam sat back. "Thanks Dean, now I'm all tense again." He reached for the latte, exchanged looks with Dean again, and then just leaned into him and pushed the swing back and forth. "So much for it getting less complicated and easier when they grow up."

"I told you we should have let that hoodoo priestess work her magic on Em and kept her a sweet little nine-year-old. Then we wouldn't have to be worrying about dates and talks and complications," Dean said, kissing Sam's temple as he put his arm around Sam and pulled him a little closer. "And I promise, after Em goes to bed tonight, I'll work out every last little bit of tension in that body of yours. Any way you want me to."

"I'm holding you to that." Lifting his face, Sam kissed Dean, lingering just a little but careful not to get things too heated. Then he rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "Fashion show, huh? Now I'm re-thinking those shorts we bought yesterday." He sighed, then gave a chuckle. "We can handle ghosts and demons, we should be able to handle one teenager."

Dean gave a snort of laughter. "Are you kidding? Ghosts and demons are easy compared to teenagers."

***

"Well, it looks like we've made her Facebook." Sam said, turning the laptop around slightly so Dean could see it. It was after dinner, and they were both on the sofa, waiting for Em's 'fashion show.' Already, there was a Facebook post telling the world, or at least ‘Em-Win's’ friends, about the fashion show in progress. Of course her friends' comments, which would be hilarious if directed to other people, weren't that hilarious for Sam. "Seems like they think we're old-fashioned, sheltered, and that there could be a TV comedy around us. Comedy gold, one of them says," Sam choked.

"Yeah, wait until they're parents," Dean groused. "And I think we're being smart, checking out Em's date clothes now rather than making her change when 'Greg' shows. Rather fight tonight then tomorrow. Course that gives our far-too-smart daughter time to hide the clothes we've nixed and change after they've left."

"Don't be so cynical. Besides, so long as we're not unreasonable, she won't have a reason to have to try to trick us. What the--?" Sam made a face at the monitor. "So, your nickname was 'Dean, the Machine?’" His eyes shifted to Dean, one eyebrow slightly raised. 

Grabbing the laptop, Dean spun it to read the comments and gave a soft growl. "A long, long, _long_ time ago and it was an offhand comment I made. And I was just joking." His lips tugged into a smirk. "Hah. That's what she gets for ragging on us." He said smugly and turned the computer back around and pointed to Emily's response comment - 'OMG, TMI.' 

"Yeah, I saw that." Sam gave a chuckle and shook his head. "If I hadn't promised not to be 'too present' in her Facebook, I'd be tempted to give a thumbs up to her comment. Seriously TMI." He scanned a little farther. "They're making us sound like old farts, and neither of us have hit forty yet. I'm trying to remember whether I was ever--"

He was interrupted by the sight of Emily at the top of the stairs, hanging over the railing and calling out. "Hey, guys, passion glaze or enticement?" She asked, waggling her eyebrows at them. 

"If you're not careful, it'll be 'Dowdy Old Lady,'" Dean said. "So tell me what passion or enticement we're talking about."

She made a face at him, but held up her hands. "Lip gloss. Watermelon or hot pink with sugar glazing?"

"How about you come down here and we see what you're wearing, then we can help you choose," Sam suggested. Under his breath, he muttered, “and I bet 'Dean, the Machine' knows everything about great lipstick."

"Ta-da," Emily said, stepping into the middle of the living room. She was wearing a jeans skirt, which she pulled down a little. "See, not too short," she emphasized, though it was a mini. Then she turned around to give them a one hundred and eighty degree view, and pulled her hair up off her neck. "Haven't decided yet if I'll put my hair in a ponytail."

Sam's lips quirked into a smile. Feeling Dean tensing up next to him, Sam slammed his knee into Dean's and whispered only to him, "It's the fashion." He could see the wheels spinning in Dean’s head and knew that Dean was getting ready to comment on the Ugg boots Em had paired with the mini skirt. "Ponytail. No, wait, that might leave your neck exposed to the cold."

"It's not cold," she pointed out, then looked at Dean. 

Dean gave Sam a look. "You let her buy a mini? Dude!"

"Funny!" Emily said, crossing her arms since she'd always worn minis. Now that she was going on a date, it was like her pops was realizing these things for the first time or something. "So, how do I look?"

"You look--"

"I mean, my other choice is a bikini." Her lips quirked just like Sam’s had.

"Very funny. I think you look great, sweetheart. And Dean loves it, don't you," Sam demanded, putting his arm around Dean's shoulders and giving him a squeeze. 

"I vote for the full bikini." He looked at Sam and said 'quietly', though easily loud enough for Emily to hear, "Then neither the theater nor the restaurant will let her in." At Sam's glare he gave an innocent, "What?" Turning his attention back to his daughter, Dean gave a reluctant nod. "You'd make me happier if you'd wear a little bit longer mini, but if Sam's not all freaked on its length, yeah, okay. I guess. Now show us these lip glosses of yours. Are they flavored?"

"Uh huh, they taste _really_ good. Wanna try?" Looking down, she opened them both up, then started to pass it to Dean.

"TMI," Sam said. "Never mind," he added when she gave him an inquiring look. "What about jewelry? I think the locket you have with our pictures would be perfect."

"Oh, Dad," she gave him a look. 

"Now it's 'oh Dad'," Sam huffed, eyeing the lip glosses Dean was inspecting.

After sniffing the glosses and looking at the color, he handed her the hot pink that smelled of peaches. "This one," Dean said firmly, knowing he'd be able to see or smell it on the kid if the kid kissed his daughter. The watermelon one he wasn't as sure about. "Sam's right, you need some jewelry." 

Pushing himself up off the couch, he walked into the connecting room where his desk was and pulled out a box from a hidden compartment in the bottom drawer. He set it on the desk, unlocked it, and rummaged through it. He finally pulled out a small velvet box and brought it back to the Livingroom. "Here. See if you like this."

Emily sucked her breath in and stared at the delicate necklace. It was made up of two silver chains, one slightly shorter than the other, and each of them had a small diamond point suspended from it, the one on the bottom slightly larger. "It's beautiful," she said, slowly lifting it from the box and holding it up.

"It really is," Sam chimed in, moving to the edge of the sofa to take a closer look. "Have to say, I was expecting an amulet."

"Yeah, me too," she said, never taking her eyes off the necklace. "A big old talisman... ah... this is perfect," she finally declared. "Put it on for me?" She handed the necklace to her pops and turned around. "I won't lose it, and I'll bring it right back," she promised.

Dean gave a small smile as he took it from her. "This was my mom's. Dad got it for her for her first mother's day. The top diamond represented me and the bottom one, Dad. I think she'd like you to have it, Em. The new birth certificate I had made for you and Sam, well, you're named after her, after all, and your dad is named after my dad, so the necklace kinda represents me and your dad now." He fastened the necklace then picked up the box and cupped her hands around it. "I know you'll take good care of it."

She knew that her pops didn't have too many things that belonged to his mother. Even the pictures he had of her were few and treasured by him. Locking gazes with him, she smiled. "I will, I promise. Thank you," she said simply, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I kind of feel like it's my birthday today, or something." Between the necklace and the brand-new handgun, it really felt that way.

Sam was watching them, his eyes soft and maybe a little moist. Of course his daughter had to draw attention to it.

"Uh uh, no Hallmark moments," she said grinning as she looked over at him.

Clearing his throat, Sam got up. "Come on Scamp, time for pie and ice cream." Over her head, he smiled at Dean even as she complained that she hadn't been called 'scamp' for years and was too old for that kind of nickname.

"Would you prefer Munchkin or Imp?" Dean said. "Or maybe just 'Brat.' And you will never be too old for that kind of nickname because you'll always be our little girl, no matter how old or," Dean grimaced a little, "how tall you get. You sure you don't have a little longer skirt you could wear?"

She rolled her eyes and put an arm around each of them, marching them toward the kitchen. "We will _all_ survive my first date, I promise," she said, reassuring them in the same tone they'd used in reassuring or comforting her over the years, then letting them go and rushing into the kitchen ahead of them to get into the freezer.

Sam shook his head, leaned towards Dean, and stole a kiss. "She's right, we'll survive."

"So long as that Greg kid is a gentleman and behaves his ass, he'll survive, too," Dean murmured to Sam after the kiss. He licked his lips. "I wonder if they make apple pie lip gloss. I think it would go good on you."

If Emily hadn't been within earshot, Sam would have laughed at Dean's comment about Greg, and agreed with him. But Dean's follow up joke had him making a face. "If one of us wears lip gloss, it's gonna be you, hot lips. You're the one with the full, pouty mouth."

"Dad....!" Emily groaned from the kitchen.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Dean just gave Sam a smirk. "But think how many more kisses I'd be stealing from you if you also tasted of apple pie. Mmmm. Pie...."

Licking his lips very slowly and giving Dean a heated look, Sam ducked into the kitchen, a smile lighting up his own face.


	3. Chapter 3

After dessert, Emily had gone upstairs to finish her homework. Sam and Dean finished up some research they'd started for a hunter, and while Dean was on the phone giving the guy their findings, Sam took a couple of beers out to the porch and sat down on the swing. When the weather was nice like this, he liked nothing better than relaxing out here.

Hearing Emily calling for "Poe," the mutt she'd rescued from the pound, Sam knew she was getting ready for bed. He'd never been able to break her of the habit of letting Rumsfeld get on the bed, so he'd given up and not even tried with Poe. One way or another, Em would get her way, and as Dean kept telling him, it was no big deal. Of course, he washed the dog more often than was probably recommended, but that was the only way he could fight the urge to take the dog out every night.

He was mentally going over the list of things he planned to get done tomorrow when he heard Dean approach the door. Turning his head, he smiled as Dean walked out and let the screen door bang behind him. "That was a long conversation. Did he need convincing?"

Dean shook his head and gave a small chuckle as he sat down on the swing next to Sam and took the bottle he offered. "No, he accepted everything pretty much right off. He wanted some," and Dean cleared his throat, "relationship advice.”

“Huh. What advice did you give him?” Sam asked, curious.

“I just told him to keep the fights clean and the sex dirty. And to keep lots of chocolate-covered strawberries on hand."

"Fights clean and sex dirty--now he's going to think," he nodded toward Dean, "you and I…. dirty..." Letting out a breath, he shook his head and lifted the bottle to his lips. No, he wasn't going to ask what other advice Dean gave, he was too afraid about how outrageous it might be.

Dean gave Sam a "you've got to be kidding me" look. "Dude, hunters gossip worse than a high school cheerleading team. _Everyone_ knows we're married. Before our first anniversary, apparently everyone knew it. Or do you mean that everyone's gonna think we're kinky?"

Sam almost choked on his beer. Elbowing Dean, he set the bottle down on the table and slowly leaned back, giving Dean what he hoped was a stern look. "Of course I want them to know we're married but the-- yeah, I'm not thrilled with talk about how much sex we are or aren't having, and how dirty it is. Did you really have to say that?" Even as he asked, Sam was quite certain Dean was proud of his 'sex stats' and was happy to brag about them. "That's it, we're doing nothing but vanilla from now on." 

"Vanilla sauce on my chest instead of chocolate sauce tonight? Sure, I'm good with that," Dean said without even missing a beat.

As thoughts of drizzling some warm, sweet vanilla syrup over Dean and then licking it off his neck and chest invaded Sam's mind, his breath caught in his throat. Wetting his suddenly dry lips, he gave a barely perceptible nod and whispered, "Maybe." When his gaze met Dean's, he knew there was no way to hide the rush of desire sweeping through him. "Anything you want, you know that," he said, putting his hand over Dean's thigh and squeezing lightly.

Giving a deep throaty chuckle, Dean shook his head. "No, baby, it's anything _you_ want." Lifting the beer bottle to his lips and taking a draught he looked at Sam and then said. "See, you're the kinky one. I just make the suggestions." 

"Licking syrup off someone is _mainstream_ ," Sam responded, though he knew very well that there was licking, and then there was _licking_. His hand strayed higher, his fingertips grazing Dean's groin, then moving back down to his leg. 

"The way you do it is not--" Dean's words were lost as he gave a soft groan at the things Sam’s teasing touched, "--not mainstream. Trust me. I know mainstream and you are so much better than that."

"I'm fairly sure I'm mainstream," Sam argued, moving his hand back up and cupping Dean this time and squeezing him lightly. His own heart kicked up a notch when he felt Dean's cock start to swell under his palm. "I mean, there was a wedding shower over at the salon, for one of the hairdressers, and you should have seen some of the gifts. Flavored syrups and candy underwear are nothing." He studied Dean's face, smiling a little when Dean's eyes seemed to lose focus. 

"Stop… cheating," Dean managed to get out. Barely. He was all for being focused on what Sam's hand was doing between his legs. He turned his gaze on Sam's glistening lips and managed to pull his thoughts together. "Cheap flavored syrups, and gross edible underwear? And men's briefs where my cock is stuck down a sock to look like an elephant's trunk? Weak. Mainstream. Crap. Homemade syrups? Absence of clothes--though okay, you're really hot in that purple Speedo and cut off tee. And dude, you may have magic fingers for massages, but that tongue of yours? Wicked. More than just wicked. Awesome."

"You're being extra-complimentary tonight. You want something?" Sam asked, his heart swelling at Dean's words. After all these years, after all this time with Dean, he was still surprised and touched by the fact that the man he loved, who he was with, was not stingy with praises and compliments. Palming Dean harder, he leaned in. "How about some apple pie? Hmm, want some? Bet you can still taste it on my lips," he whispered, bringing his mouth to Dean's and dragging his tongue across the seam of Dean's lips. 

"All part of my plan. Get you all hot and bothered, exhaust you, then go find this Greg guy and lock him up in the panic room until at least Saturday or Sunday. And as far as you know, I was with you all night, y'know, for when Sheriff Mills comes asking," Dean said. His eyes half-closed when Sam gave him more pressure and suddenly Sam's lips were _right there._ Dean blindly put his beer on the table by the end of the swing and wrapped his arm around Sam's back, opening his mouth to let Sam's tongue in.

"Maybe I'm the one who'll exhaust you," Sam murmured against Dean's lips before sweeping his tongue inside Dean's mouth, probing every corner and deftly escaping Dean's tongue. He pulled back every so often to feather kisses along Dean's jaw, or to whisper hotly in his ear about how hard he was getting and to ask if Dean wanted his lips around his cock. The soft, deep sounds Dean gave him in response had Sam's heart thundering in his chest. His skin grew hot and tight. Needing more, he suddenly grasped the back of the swing and lifted himself up, turned around and straddled Dean's hips. Even before his lips met Dean's, Dean lifted his hips so that their bodies touched. As his cock pressed against Dean's firm stomach, Sam gave an aching groan and, cupping the back of Dean's head, dragging him closer, tangled his tongue with Dean's and kissing him hard. 

Dean loved making out on the swing with Sam. He'd even enclosed the porch with screening to keep out the damned mosquitoes, and had done some major reinforcing of the swing and chains so they never had to worry about it. They pretty much had it down to a science. How to move, how to balance, and sometimes they even went a little further than making out. 

Dean was used to quickly taking over, but apparently, Sam was feeling the need for control tonight. He smiled to himself. Usually when Sam wanted comfort sex, he wanted Dean to be slow and romantic, up until they were going at it. Then Sam demanded it fast and hard. Tonight was different.

Since Sam wanted control, Dean let him have it, responding to Sam and letting Sam initiate whatever he wanted. Sometimes ‘vanilla mainstream Sam’ got damned creative and hot as hell. Mmm, lap dance maybe? No, probably not on the swing, but he was looking forward to whatever Sam wanted because Sam could be damned kinky, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Sam's body flooded with heat as he kissed Dean, his tongue darting in and out of his husband's mouth, his body rubbing against Dean's. Almost involuntarily, he started to thrust against Dean, and the swing swayed back and forth under their weight. He felt Dean's arms tighten around him, to keep him safe. Reaching for Dean's wrists, he tugged on them, trying to force Dean’s hands lower down his back. 

Dean couldn’t help the groans that escaped him at the way Sam teased and rubbed against him. Yeah, there would probably be some hosing down of the swing tonight before they went to bed. He wasn't sure at first what Sam wanted when he gripped his wrist. If he let go of Sam, that could totally unbalance them and they might fall on their asses. But it soon became clear and Dean leaned back a little to find that right spot of equilibrium for them, and brought his hands down to cup Sam’s ass.

A husky groan broke from Sam. "Have I told you lately how incredibly hot you are?" he asked, gasping for air and lowering his mouth to Dean's neck, kissing him again and again as the swing creaked.

"No, you haven't. Was beginning to think I was losing some of my heat," Dean teased. "Thought maybe I was going to have to go take a pole dancing class or something to get your attention. They're offering them at the gym, y'know. Unnngh. Right there, yeah. See, wicked mouth," Dean said as he tilted his head to let Sam play vampire on his neck. 

"Pole dancing... uh huh. You know you could just stand next to a pole and I'd be interested," he admitted, speaking against Dean's throat and tugging the neckline of his tee shirt down so he could move lower. He mouthed the spot that got Dean going and groaned with approval when Dean lifted up slightly, giving him more pressure. 

"I'm most interested in your 'pole' anyhow," Dean said, wriggling some against Sam, pleased by the sounds he was rewarded with. 

“Good answer,” Sam said breathlessly. Running his hand down Dean's chest, he pushed his hand under his tee shirt and splayed his fingers wide over his stomach. "You're burning up. We should get this off you," he whispered, tugging on the material that was getting in his way.

Dean ran his own hand up under Sam's shirt, loving the feel of his husband’s sculpted muscles. "Oh, I am, am I? Well, you are the physical therapist, you should know how to best take care of any of my problems. Though I do have one problem," he said, as the two of them did a carefully orchestrated dance to get Dean's shirt off. "I'm desperately and completely in love with someone." 

"Is that right?" Letting out a hot breath, Sam dropped Dean's shirt and then used both hands to cup his neck and locked gazes with him. "Is it anyone I can compete with? Or is her name 'apple pie?'"

Grinning, Dean shook his head. "When are you gonna learn, no one can even come close to competing with you. Not even Dutch apple pie or strawberry milkshakes."

"Only because I can make apple pie and I've got natural milk shakes..." Sam rolled his eyes at his own dumb joke, then dipped his head and continued what he'd started, making his way down from Dean's throat to his chest, though he couldn't go too low. His palms moved up, searching and caressing Dean's stomach and sides, his thumbs running along the grooves and dips between his muscles. Feeling Dean's reaction to his thumbs grazing Dean's nipples, Sam groaned and locked his mouth against Dean's again, in a hard, lust-filled kiss. 

Dean chuckled at Sam's joke. "I always preferred my drinks on tap." He loved the way Sam's hands ran over him, and kept his own hands roving to a minimum, so he could fully appreciate everything Sam was doing to him without distractions. When Sam began kissing him again, the way his tongue wrapped and danced with Dean's, Dean felt his cock growing harder by the second. "Damn, Sammy, the things you do to me," he murmured when they broke for air, and then recaptured Sam's lips.

"You mean _gonna do to you_..." Sam managed to correct before he found himself being kissed breathless. He ground his ass down over Dean's cock, tilting his body forward as the swing swayed back, then pulling away and sliding back as it swayed forward, the metal creaking as it strained under their weight and motions. Sharply aware of the press of Dean's now rigid cock against his ass, Sam moaned with desire. His own rock hard dick was trapped against Dean's stomach, rubbing against him but with only enough pressure to make him ache and want more. Their position wasn't ideal, not for the satisfaction his body started to demand. Instead, it was one long tease that seemed to go on forever. He knew he wasn't the only one frustrated, he could tell by the way Dean tugged at him and jerked against him. The swaying fed their hunger, their need, until Sam felt like he was burning up. Until he could barely take it any longer.

Grasping the back of the seat with one hand, and the chain with the other, Sam stood up on his knees. As they swayed back, his zipper brushed against Dean's mouth, causing him to close his eyes tight, the veins in his neck protruding as he strained to control himself. "Take me out. I want your mouth around me. Please," he rasped, his legs a little shaky as he opened his eyes and locked gazes with Dean.

Dean was aching so badly, but that was part of the fun of a good tease, and Sam was a _very_ good tease. When Sam stood up, Dean groaned at the loss of pressure on his cock, but Sam begged so needfully, he couldn't say no. Instead, Dean met his gaze and smiled sexily at him. Wrapping his arms around Sam's ass cheeks, Dean rubbed his mouth slowly over the zipper, tugging at the button a couple time. He pressed his face against Sam's groin, grabbing the zipper flap with his teeth, running his teeth along the zipper, and generally just torturing Sam.

Finally, he used his tongue to lift the zipper pull, gripped it with his teeth and inched the zipper down slowly. "Balance, Sammy, gonna get the button now," Dean told him, his voice rough with desire. He carefully released his grip around his husband's hips and quickly undid the button, then tugged the pants and briefs down until Sam's stiff erection was easily accessible. "I think I'll go in for some Rocky Mountain oysters before I drink down what's on draught," Dean said, his gaze drifting up briefly to Sam before returning to Sam's cock and balls. 

By then, Sam's body was taut with need, and his eyes were glazed with passion. His hand gripped the chain more tightly, hoping the pain would bring him back to his senses. "I think..." He took a deep breath and gave in to the urges of his body, thrusting his hips so his cock rubbed over Dean's waiting mouth. "I think if you don't eat and drink soon, I just might die. Dean!" he urged, his hand sliding from Dean's shoulder to the back of his head, tugging on him. 

Giving a low chuckle, Dean opened his mouth and sucked hard on the tip of Sam's cock, his tongue playing with the slit. He kept one arm looped around Sam's hips and used his free hand to finger Sam's balls. As he gently squeezed, he slid his tongue along the bottom side of Sam's cock, taking his dick in deeper and deeper until he felt Sam's tip in the back of his throat. He began swallowing around it and rubbing his tongue in circles along that bottom vein. He adored the sounds Sam made every time his throat tightened around Sam's cock, every time he fingered Sam's balls, every time he hollowed his cheeks, sucking on it. 

Blinding heat rushed through Sam's veins. Soft, unintelligible sounds broke from the back of his throat as Dean sucked and touched him in just the right way. The sight of Dean swallowing him down, his wicked mouth wrapped so tightly around his dick, captivated Sam. Entranced, he watched, sometimes pulling out of Dean's mouth just for the pleasure of chasing his mouth again and sinking his aching cock inside, groaning with pleasure and pain. "Mainstream never felt so good," he said, biting his lower lip as the urge to fuck Dean's mouth grew stronger. "So good, Dean... so damned good."

It went on and on, until Sam was feverish with the need for release. His hand dropped from the chain to Dean's shoulder. He aligned himself properly and started to thrust his hips lightly, at first his head hanging down to watch Dean, but then suddenly throwing his head back when his balls pulled up tight against his body. "Oh God..." He felt Dean's hand close around his balls, and then he was coming. "Ungh... Dean..." he moaned, trying not to make too much noise, but in no shape to gauge how well he was doing at that.

Dean tightened his hold on Sam as Sam's cock began to pulse. He swallowed down quickly, making sure to catch every drop. When Sam's cries quieted, he teased a little more, milking the last of it, then pulling off. Tilting his head back he looked up at Sam. "I'm not sure getting a blow job on the front porch, on the porch swing, is one hundred percent vanilla, you know. Get down here and kiss me already."

A sound between a huff and a laugh broke from Sam. His now very sensitive cock throbbed at the sensation of being dragged along Dean's chest as Sam slowly lowered himself. Cupping the back of Dean's head, he locked gazes with him. "Mouth must be hurting," he mused, kissing him lightly, sucking Dean's lower lip into his mouth and letting it go. "And your jaw," he said, brushing his mouth along Dean's jaw, nipping him, and working his way back up. "I love you, and everything you do to me," he said hoarsely, this time bringing his mouth down hard over Dean's, and kissing him earnestly. 

Their tongues danced and wrestled, sometimes playfully and sometimes aggressively. Sam's hands slipped between their bodies. He caressed and touched Dean's chest and abs, moving his hips back and forth, grinding his bare ass over Dean. Through the rough material of Dean's jean's, he could feel the swell of Dean's cock and encouraged it with his movements. A low, gruff groan from Dean had Sam moving his hands down and tugging on Dean's jeans as he unsnapped the button. 

Breaking the kiss, Sam whispered, "I think it's my turn to play with you." Hands now pressed over the bench on either side of Dean's thighs to hold the swing in place, Sam got off it and went down on his knees, this time between Dean's thighs. Leaning in, he mouthed Dean's cock over his jeans, but didn't touch him with his hand just yet. "Oh yeah, I think you're ready to play too," he said, clamping his mouth over the rigid line straining against Dean's pant. 

"I'm always ready to play," Dean said, his voice rough with need, groaning loudly as Sam's mouth came to bear on his cock. "Jesus, Sam," he moaned, his head falling back a moment before he turned his attention to his lap. Resting his hand lightly on Sam's head, he ran his fingers through his lover's hair, letting sounds of pleasure fall from his lips as Sam worked him. "That whole love you and everything I do to you. Ditto. Massive.. Ungh… ditto, chick-flick stuff. Yer killing me..." Dean gasped as Sam was simply masterful, and he hadn't even pulled Dean's pants down.

"My secret is... I get... a lot of practice," Sam said, smiling, and torturing Dean some more. "And I have a great partner to practice on." He kissed his way upwards, mouthing Dean's stomach, using his lips to nip him, and finally pulling away. Reaching for Dean, he started to unzip him very slowly, his hand pressing hard against Dean's groin in the process. Once he had the jeans open, he curled his fingers around the waistband and gave Dean a chance to lift up. Tugging the material down twice, he pulled it down past Dean's knees. 

The sight of Dean's swollen and flushed cock begging for attention had Sam licking his lips and feeling a little dizzy. He took Dean's hand and brought it to Dean's cock, waiting for Dean to wrap his hand around his own cock. As soon as Dean started to stroke himself, Sam lowered his head and started to lick and mouth the head of Dean's cock, sometimes forcing Dean to chase his mouth.

"Evil..." Dean hissed when he had to lift his hips and follow after those tempting lips and that warm mouth. Every time Sam went down on him was a moment of heaven, was a moment when his brain seized up and froze. "Nngh, Sammy," he moaned, stroking himself harder, feeling the swing rock a little, but Sam held the swing still as Dean's hips rocked and moved, grunts of pleasure echoing out into the night.

Sam loved Dean's reactions, the way he moved and the sounds he made. All the ways Dean showed him that he was loved, needed and special. It was a precious gift, one that many who hadn't walked in Sam's shoes might not understand, or might take for granted. He didn't, and he never would. 

As he sucked hard on the tip of Dean's cock, and felt Dean's fist meet his lips faster and faster, Sam finally pulled off and replaced Dean's hand with his own. Before he went down on him, he warned, "don't come in my mouth." Opening his mouth wide, he slowly took every inch of Dean, wrapped his lips tight around him and started to move his head up and down. He kept his hand at the base of Dean's cock, twisting his wrist back and forth and squeezing him lightly each time Dean lifted his hips and showed him he needed more.

 _Don't come in my mouth..._ Fuuuuck. Sam _was_ trying to kill him tonight. He half-growled and half-groaned but speech was escaping him at the moment. Sam no longer held the swing perfectly still with one hand wrapped around his cock so every time Dean thrust forward, the swing moved back a little, but Sam guided it forward again and went down on his cock, his perfect satin lips wrapped tightly around Dean's shaft. Dean let Sam work him until he was panting, practically writhing, and suddenly Dean's hand gripped Sam's shoulder. "Ungh, Sam… off… stop… come," he groaned out, trying to communicate to his lover that any more stimulation would result in an explosion down Sam's throat.

The bite of Dean's fingers into his shoulders had Sam pulling off quickly, allowing Dean's glistening dick to drop from his mouth. He moved his thumb over Dean's slit, pressing down, and with his other hand, he gripped the base of Dean's cock, stopping him from coming even if he'd wanted to. "Okay... it's okay, hang on for me," he whispered, holding tight and not moving at all until he was sure Dean had it under control.

He stood up and bent over to kiss Dean, his lips sliding back and forth over Dean's and accepting his tongue into his mouth. He could practically hear Dean's heart pounding and knew how he must be feeling right now. Breaking the kiss, he took a step back and dropped his jeans down. 

Without another word, he turned around and reached behind him to grasp Dean's erect cock. "Don't argue. I can take it," he said, pushing himself down over Dean's cock. He screwed his eyes shut against the burning pain, biting his lip and pushing down harder, giving a light ‘umf,' once Dean was past the tight ring of muscle. Taking a deep breath, Sam lowered himself over Dean's lap, taking every inch of him and finally rolling his head to the side, against Dean's shoulder. Slowly, he pushed with his feet, making the swing move back and forth, groaning at the sensation of being filled by Dean. 

Dean sat on the swing, watching his husband, trying to figure out what Sam had planned. Sam had to know he wasn't going to be able to take much more attention or he was going to shoot his wad no matter what. When Sam broke off their kiss, Dean bit back a complaint. Sam had stirred up far too many fires inside of him. His eyes were smoldering as Sam dropped his jeans. He didn't expect Sam to turn around and just… sit down. He wanted to protest, started to protest, but as soon as he felt the head of his cock at Sam's hole, he was lost. Then Sam was laying back against him and the swing was moving, causing a slight in and out motion between the two of them. Dean bit down on Sam's shoulder for a moment then sucked hard on his neck.

"Vanilla my ass. Or your ass," Dean murmured into Sam's ear. "You keep up this 'vanilla' creativity and… Jesus, Sammy," Dean groaned when Sam gave the swing another little push. Dean wrapped his arms tightly around Sam's waist. There wasn't a lot of movement he could do, it was pretty much up to Sam. "Evil..." he hissed, then kissed his way up Sam's neck to his jaw and when Sam turned his head, kissed him hard.

"Mph..." The kiss came as a surprise to Sam, but he responded, giving as good as he got. "Don't cheapen the word... you know there's real evil out there," he teased, pushing his head back against Dean again. Each time he pushed the swing back, it swung back a little harder, pushing Dean deeper inside him. He gave a soft groan and dropped his arms down, tucking each hand under Dean's thigh and pushing back against him. As Dean's hot breath fanned across his neck and shoulder, he felt a tremor of pleasure go through him. "Besides, it's not me, it's you. I never did anything like this before. Ever." Squeezing his eyes closed, he asked, "wanna go faster?"

"There's a whole 'nother type of evil sitting in my lap. The type you wanna have around and not do in. Ungh, oh, fuck," Dean groaned as Sam's weight pressed down on him. When Sam pushed back harder, Dean felt his own butt cheeks tighten as he arched a little and lifted, trying to get in deeper still. "Yeah. Faster. Harder. And I'll gladly take credit for corrupting your vanilla mindset," he panted.

"So long as you're accepting the blame..." Sam doubled over, and pushed back, groaning at the sensations from Dean's cock pressing against his prostate. A soft oath broke from him. His fingers dug into Dean's thighs as he started to push the swing back and forth, increasingly faster, pressing himself back into Dean, and pulling away from him as they moved forward. "Oh God... Dean," he said hoarsely, clenching his muscles around his lover's cock.

"Yeah, I accept… most of it," Dean conceded, his head falling back as Sam pushed them faster. It was maddening, the irregular pacing, the length of the pacing, and it was keep Dean on the edge but unable to hit the crest. He groaned, moaned, murmured how he loved Sam while cursing him in the next breath, arched, pulled Sam back against him, everything he could, but let Sam control the pace of the swing as he clenched Dean's cock in counterpoint. Dean let it go on for what was surely hours, even days, until he couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his feet down on the porch.

"Ride me Sammy. Bring me off," he demanded, he begged. "Please..." he groaned softly, trying to thrust up into Sam's ass.

Sam stopped relying on the swing and started to create friction himself, leaning forward and pushing back repeatedly, bouncing on Dean's lap faster and faster. The sounds breaking from Dean, the way he was desperately pushing into him, made Sam give it his all. "Fuck me, baby," he said, "yeah... just like that, just like that." Sweat dripped off his forehead onto his thigh. His breaths grew harsh as he neared the breaking point, his exhales breaking off each time he moved his hips. Finally, he lifted practically off Dean, so only his tip was still inside Sam. When he slammed himself back down and Dean filled him all at once, he saw white behind his eyelids from the pleasure and pain. He didn't stop, he kept grinding and bouncing, clenching around Dean, bringing him home.

When Sam started truly riding him, he thought that must be how it felt when they gave people having heart attacks those shocks with the paddles. His whole body jumped and thrummed and jolted, fire burning in every vein. "Fuck, yeah, baby, yeah, ungh, ungh, ungh," Dean cried out louder and louder as the pressure built inside him. When Sam came back down on his cock, he grabbed him and held him there as his balls tightened and he felt like he exploded inside Sam, shouting his name out into the night.

Exhausted, Sam flopped back against Dean. "That was..." 

Hearing the dog bark from upstairs, followed by the window being shoved down and slammed shut, Sam’s eyes widened. A second later, he jabbed his elbow into Dean's ribs. "You shouted," he accused, feeling the heat creep up his cheeks. "Poe and... ah..." He started to get up, off Dean.

"Ow!" Dean kept his arms firmly wrapped around Sam's waist, not letting Sam move. "That was fucking awesome. That earned a shout, Dude, you can't say it didn't. Don't be a prude. Our bedroom isn't that far from Em's. I'm sure she's heard us plenty of times. Why do you think she started shutting her door at night? She started that after having sex-ed in school."

"What?! Wait, you think she can hear..." He elbowed Dean again, realizing Dean was joking. Their bedrooms were separated by a long hall, and their door was quite thick. "Don't... don't say another word," he warned, trying to stem any more unwanted theories or jokes from Dean, "or we may never do this again in the house. You'll be paying for motel rooms, Mr. Shouty." A snicker suddenly broke from him, and he turned his head toward Dean. "I think you just earned yourself a new nickname." 

Dean broke into laughter, then groaned as his laughing made Sam bounce a little on his overly-sensitized dick. "Love pulling your chain. Along with _other_ more interesting things." He captured Sam's lips and gave him a thorough kissing. When he finally broke it off he whispered in a low husky voice. "I'll be happy to be Mr. Shouty, but then you'll be Mr. Bouncy."

"Bouncy... I'll give you bouncy," Sam huffed, although his lips were curved into a smile. "I don't wanna move," he confessed, leaning back and resting against Dean. "I'm hot, and sticky," and it wasn't just due to the weather, "but I could stay here all night. With you." 

Dean tightened his arms, giving Sam a hug. "You don't hafta move. Not for a while. Let's just sit here. Watch the stars and the moon for a bit." He kissed the side of Sam's neck. "Love you, Sammy."

Sam let his eyes close. "Yeah. I know. You told the whole world," he answered, smiling. "Love you, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

[3 days later - Friday Night]

"I was about to come get you," Sam said, seeing Dean walk into the house with a rag in his hand, wiping thick black grease off his fingers. "I thought you might have forgotten it's _that_ night." Walking over to his husband and avoiding his hands, Sam gave him a kiss. 

The sound of footsteps coming from upstairs had Sam rolling his eyes. "She's been down here four time already and I've lost count of how many times her hairstyle has changed." He started walking to the kitchen, and turned to look over his shoulder. "Beer?"

"I didn't forget," Dean grumbled. "I was keeping myself busy so I didn't go do something like put sugar in the kid's gas tank so his car wouldn't start." He started to ask Sam for whiskey instead of beer but then changed his mind. He didn't want Emily smelling whiskey on his breath. He didn't want her thinking this whole date thing was upsetting him as much as it was. "Yeah, a beer," Dean said. "So, what's for dinner? Or is it my turn to cook, in which case, we're getting chili dogs and potato chips."

"I thought we could fire up the grill and have some burgers. Keep it simple," Sam answered, searching Dean's face for a second. "It's gonna be fine," he promised, before disappearing into the kitchen. He'd had all day to tell himself that. Pulling the fridge door open, he grabbed a couple beers. "You want some chips or nuts or something, you skipped lunch," he called out.

"Chips would be good. I'll wait to have the _nuts_ until after Emily's gone for the evening," Dean called back, his smirk practically audible. Yeah, it would be all right, just like Sam said. Em would trounce any guy who tried anything she didn't want him to. Of course, what worried Dean was if she decided she didn't mind if the guy did something. She was so young.

"Okay. On both counts," Sam added, grinning as he poured some chips into a bowl. A few moments later, he emerged from the kitchen and set the two bottles on the coffee table, next to the chips. "Relax," he said, nodding toward the sofa, but looking up as he heard Emily running around again. "I can't wait for prom," he said, with a wince. Just as he was about to sit down, he noticed the stack of demonology books on the end table and went to collect them.

"Relax isn't in my vocabulary at the moment," Dean said, snagging one of the bottles and taking a good long hit from it. He looked at the chips, then his hands and went into the kitchen to wash them. His head snapped up at Poe’s loud barking. He looked out the window but didn't see anything in the salvage yard. Probably meant Eric or Ken or Dogmeat was headed down the drive to the house. "Not going to get the gun, not going to get the gun..." Dean muttered to himself as he dried his hands. 

"What?" Sam asked, his gaze moving to the stairs as their daughter came down the stairs.

"Dad, do I have puffy eyes?"

"What? No, you're perfect," Sam answered. "Why?"

"You always say that. Never mind," she answered, and headed for the kitchen. Sam hoped Dean realized she was wearing the cut off shorts just around the house and hadn't yet gotten dressed, or he might just have a heart attack.

"Whoops," Emily halted. "Didn't know you were in. Mmmwaa!" She gave him an air kiss, admonishing him at the same time, "don't touch my hair, it’s finally staying in place." Swinging around, she opened the fridge and pulled the vegetable drawer open. "Did you know cucumber slices make your eyes pop?" she asked as she rummaged around. 

"Why do you want to look like a bug-eyed fish?" Dean asked, evaluating her outfit. "And that better not be what you're wearing, or at least, what you _think_ you're wearing," he told her firmly then jerked his head toward the door. "Poe's barking. That your Ken doll on approach?"

She turned and joined him, grabbing a knife to slice the cucumber on the counter next to him. "Don't call him _that_ , I mean when he gets here," she said, giving him a pleading look. "I still have a half hour. Unless he gets here early, you don't think he'll be early, do you?" she asked, her voice going higher as she imagined her parents entertaining Greg on their own. "Maybe I should skip the eye treatment." Dropping the knife, she grabbed a kitchen towel and started drying her hands, rolling her eyes as the dog barked again. "I hid his treat so he'd stop following me around. I think he found it and can't get to it. Oh... maybe I should iron my skirt. Do you think I should? Where _is_ the iron, anyway?" she asked, sounding a little panicked.

"I think you're too young to worry about needing an 'eye treatment,' he's probably as nervous as you are and will probably be early because of it, and your dad keeps the iron downstairs in the basement, with the laundry stuff, hanging beside the ironing board. It's a longer skirt, right?" Dean asked, eyeing her, wanting desperately to find some reason to ground her for like a year or ten, but knowing he couldn't. 

"Downstairs... right." She looked over at him. "You saw the skirt. Jeans... mini... pre-approved, ring a bell? No taking it back," she added quickly, "besides, he doesn't care about my legs. I should probably..." she started to back toward the door. "I mean, if he's going to be early and all..."

"And I asked if you'd wear a little longer skirt. An inch or two, Em--wait, what do you mean he doesn't care about your legs? What parts did he tell you he cares about?" Dean said. "And how long have you been seeing him?" he asked, feeling his insides twist up a little. How many times had he side-stepped and avoided parents in his youth? And the things he'd gotten away with. Dean swore if this Greg kid turned out to be anything like himself, the date was coming to an abrupt and premature end.

"I thought you meant longer than the shorts," she answered, her hand resting on the door frame. Unsure about whether he was kidding, she searched his face. "I have to find something else to wear?" Her mind reeled at the thought of having to rip through her closet and figure out what to wear. 

Seeing his daughter's rising panic, he crossed over to her, started to run his hand over her hair but caught himself and instead put his hand on her shoulder. "Em, I don't mean it can't be a mini. You've got two other skirts like the one you showed us that are a little longer. Are they...uhm, out of date, or too 'last season' or something? Try to make your over-protective popsie understand, huh? I'm already freaking here, you know that, don't you?"

She had the urge to either burst into tears, which would really wreck her night because no one wanted to go on a date with swollen eyes, or to yell that this was unfair because they'd already agreed on what she was wearing, but that would probably get her grounded. Or worse, she'd feel bad about it for hours. "I don't know why you're freaking out. You've been out on dates, haven't you? It's not like you sat there and drooled over some girl’s legs... some girl or ah... guy's legs," she corrected herself, hearing her dad come up behind her, "especially if you'd already seen their legs like a million, gazillion times." The silence had her quickly explaining. "In PE class, you know... Fine, I'll wear jeans," she said, biting her lower lip to stop the tears from springing to hear eyes.

From behind her, Sam met Dean's eyes. He gave a slight shake of his head.

"Wait! No!" Dean protested. He knew he was screwing this up. "Okay, look I just..." He gave a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He took Em's hand and led her over to the kitchen table, sat her down, and sat down beside her. "Em, your popsie, uh, yeah, I went on lots of dates and seeing legs in gym class and seeing the long legs of the girl I'm going out on a date with, yeah, the mind is in a whole different zone. If I were seventeen, going out with a girl as gorgeous as you..." He felt the heat rise to color his face at having this discussion with his little girl. "I was pretty wild at seventeen, Em, and I'm imagining Greg being like me and… I'm just being over-protective and freaking out. I want you to be happy on your date, I want you to have a great time. I'm sorry. You can wear the skirt you showed us. Maybe for your next date with Greg I'll take you shopping and get you a skirt that's an inch or two longer and makes me a little less, you know, a freaking out popsie. But we'll talk about that tomorrow. I want you to get ready for your date." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand. "Sorry Em. I didn't mean to upset you. I know you're nervous and excited. Ignore your popsie, okay?"

"And out of time," she said, feeling a little better and feeling a little sorry for him because she’d never seen him like this. "Okay. I'm gonna get dressed. If I get done before he gets here, I'll come back and calm you down," she promised. "But if he gets here first, don't go scaring him. I'll text you when I get there. And before we go to get burgers, and after," she promised, squeezing his hand before she scrambled out of the chair but faltered when she saw the look on her dad’s face. "Not you too..." she said.

"Pfft, I’m fine. Dean’s fine. Go, get ready," Sam answered, moving out of the kitchen doorway and letting her through. He waited until she was out of earshot. "I gather I should have gotten you something harder," he said, nodding toward the beer bottle.

Dean sighed and scrubbed his face. "No. No, I'd rather have her deal with a panicking pop than see me turning to alcohol to deal with my… issues. More than a beer or two, anyhow. So… so what can I do to make it up to her for almost making her have a meltdown on date night? Should I go downstairs and iron her skirt? Or… or I could write up a gift certificate to Greg for a free oil change or something..." He looked at Sam hopeful his husband knew how to get him out of the doghouse with their daughter.

Sam walked inside the kitchen and placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, massaging him. "Be nice to Greg, I think that's all it will take." Feeling the tension in Dean's neck, Sam gave the area more attention. "And drop the hang up over the skirt. She wears skirts of that length all the time to school, so she's not going to understand why it's different for a date. Not to mention it’s over the top old fashioned." He let a moment pass to let that sink in. "Trust her. She's got a good head on her shoulders and if it turns out that this guy is as bad as you were, or as bad as you _think_ you were," Sam said, a smile in his voice, "then I have a feeling Mr. Gregory Drake will either never get another date, or... yeah, let's not think about the damage her popsie has taught her that she can do when threatened." Bending over, he kissed Dean's temple. "Four hours will go fast, then we'll have her safely back."

"Four hours? It'll be an eternity," Dean said, twisted his neck, and pressed his lips against his lover's. After an almost chaste kiss he nodded. "I'll be nice to Greg. And Sammy? I was the kid every parent warns their kids about. Just passing through, black leather, bad boy attitude, smoked, drank, and knew I was gonna be outta there in month, so I could dodge most pissed off parents, girlfriends I cheated on, everything." Dean stood up and wrapped his arm around Sam's waist. "C'mon, let's get the grill going. I'm getting hungry." 

"You're my bad boy now." He gave Dean a smile, "we'll eat outside." Opening the back door and leaving it open, he headed to the grill with Dean and started setting up.

* * * 

They brought the meat patties, bread and fixings out to the back and were almost ready to get started cooking when Poe started making a racket. They heard him bounding down the stairs and heading for the front door.   
Looking around the side of the building, Sam saw a red Honda Accord turning into the yard. "He's right on time, you gotta give him creds," Sam said, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt. "C'mon, let’s get this over with." He took a deep breath before heading inside the house to open the front door.

Dean nodded and followed Sam in after checking out what car the kid drove. Wasn't an American car but it was still probably built in the US and was one of the safer cars on the market so Dean couldn't bitch too much. Looked pretty new. He wondered if it was Greg's or his parents. 

Dean let Sam get the door since Sam was generally less intimidating than himself. With a sharp whistle and slap on his thigh to call Poe, Dean patted Poe once on the head when Poe retreated from the door and sat down at Dean's side, his tail wagging. "Good boy, Edgar," he told the mutt.

He stood at the door waiting for a knock to sound when there was a thud and clattering from upstairs, like Emily had dropped something. He wasn’t sure who was most nervous, Em or Dean, not that he wasn’t right up there with them. He looked over at Dean. "Breathe," he reminded him, flashing a grin, though he quickly turned back to look out the peep hole.

"I'm breathing. I'm breathing," Dean grumbled. Sam seemed to be enjoying his discomfort a little too much. "So, what's the kid doing out there?" Dean hissed. 

"Carefully parking. Coming out. He's looking upstairs... waving. Good looking kid. Uh... now he's heading for the porch," Sam reported, pulling back. 

"This, this is why I never picked girls up at their houses," Dean said with a nod. When the knock on the door came, Dean snapped his fingers, keeping Poe at his side and quiet. The kid didn't need to be slobbered half to death by their oh so ferocious dog.

Looking down, Sam took a moment, then opened the door wide. 

"Hello. Mr. Win... ah... Winchester." 

After stumbling over the last name, Greg seemed to recover and put his hand out and added,” Greg Drake, it's nice to meet you."

"Greg," Sam gave him a firm handshake. "Come on in, Emily will be down in a minute." As soon as the kid was inside the living room, Sam went on, "lemme introduce you to the rest of the family. That's Dean. And that's Poe."

"I've heard all about Poe," Greg admitted, walking over to Dean. "Nice to meet you, sir," he said. 

"You know Poe's the dog, right?" Dean said, but held out his hand. He approved of the firm handshake he got in return. "So, do you play sports, write for the school newspaper, any of that? Or just try to survive school?" 

Greg's eyes widened at the barrage of questions but he managed a nod and appeared to be doing his best to ignore the dog jumping against his leg. "I play some basketball. Apparently football's better," he said with a wry grin. "School's okay, I have no complaints. As far as I know, school's got no complaints about me," he added quickly.

"Yeah, we're pretty big football fans around here," Sam said, knowing Greg meant in their daughter's eyes.

"Poe. Down," Dean said and slapped his thigh. Poe reluctantly returned to sitting by Dean's leg, giving a soft whine, while his tail wagged furiously. 

Dean looked at Greg and gave a soft chuckle. "Kid, we're not going to eat you. Poe might drown you, given the chance. I'll bet Em will be down any minute, afraid we're going to scare you off or threaten you. This being her first date and all." Dean let that sink in just a moment and deftly ignored Sam’s glare. He waved a hand toward the couch. "Have a seat. Want some water or lemonade or iced tea?"

"No, thank you." Greg started to rub the back of his neck, then as if realizing they were watching him closely, dropped his arm down and walked to the couch and sat. He glanced at the stairs, then back at the two men. "To be honest, I was expecting worse. Not that this is bad... or anything. I mean it's great. You're... normal. I mean..."

"Yeah, we were expecting worse, too. Glad to find you're... normal," Sam teased. "Just have her home safe and on time."

"Of course. Yes," he nodded, stealing a glance at Dean. 

Dean gave a soft laugh as he sat down. "So, she told you of the two of us, I was probably the one who was gonna rake you over the coals, give you an inquisition, threaten to cut off your--" As Sam cleared his throat hastily, Dean smirked, "--dating rights." He gave a nod. "We're like any other parents, Greg. Don't sweat it. And I hear the clomping of shoes in the hallway now." Dean turned his attention to the stairs. "Hurry up Em, I think he's about to bolt."

Their daughter practically ran to the stairs and came down them faster than she ever had before, her ponytail swinging as she hopped off the last step and came to join them. "Hey," she said, looking at each of her parents and meeting Greg in the middle of the room. 

"Hey. You clean up good," he grinned.

"Yeah, I don't have paint on my hands," she nodded, raising her palms up to show him they were clean. "During the school fundraiser, I was taking care of the art station. I had to run to get some change and wasn't looking where I was going," she explained to her dads.

"Yeah, her hand print never washed off my shirt." Greg laughed, more relaxed now that she was here. "Guess we'd better go. It was nice meeting you," he said to her parents.

"See ya in four hours and... forty-two minutes," Emily said, walking in front of Greg and getting the door. Poe immediately chased her. "No, Poe... sit... Poe, sit. Good boy!" Giving him a pat on the head, she disappeared out the front door. 

Greg gave them a nod, and pulled the door shut after them.

Sam gave Dean a look, but headed for the door. "Big peep hole is very convenient. Much better than moving the curtains." He decided it was best not to tell Dean that the couple were holding hands as they walked to the car. Turning, he nodded at Dean. "Let's go get our dinner." 

"I just wanna know where her handprint ended up that didn't wash out," Dean groused, heading back out to the grill.

"Dean..." Sighing, Sam followed him out.

* * *

After they'd eaten and washed up, Sam had suggested they go for a walk. The way Dean was pacing around was getting to him and it was a way for both of them to use up some of their nervous energy. Course they'd constantly been checking for texts and Dean was on him to keep checking Emily's Facebook status. Practically moments after she'd left the house, her status had been " _escaped mostly unscathed_." Then there had been something on her wall about popsie being worried and nervous, that drew an irritated look from Dean and laughter from Sam. That was, until someone answered that they thought Sam would be the nervous one, and Emily agreed!

"We probably shouldn't be stalking her Facebook," Sam muttered as they headed back to the house, cutting through a nearby field. "I wouldn't be surprised if half the things in there are meant to bait us." He shook his head. "And stop looking at your watch, it's not going to make time pass faster."

"I doubt she's baiting us. She knows we're gonna be watching it and if she gets too out there, we'll say she can't date anymore. All parents stalk their kids' Facebooks to keep an eye on what they're into. Or at least they should," Dean said. After a few more steps and another glance at his watch Dean looked over at his husband. "We could go to the burger place for some strawberry shakes. You in the mood for a shake?"

"A shake, a coffee, anything," Sam nodded, thinking it would be nice to take a quick look, see the type of crowd Emily was hanging out with on this date of hers. Then reality set in and he realized she'd probably spot them. "Or a drive, you want to go for a drive past there?"

"You don't want to stop to get a shake? Just want to go driving around?" Dean asked, giving a shrug. "Yeah, that works I guess. Shouldn't they be out of the movie by now? Why hasn't she texted us?"

Both of their phones made a beeping sound at the same time. Sam gave Dean a look, and pulled his phone from his pocket. "They're at the burger joint." Reaching for Dean's hand, he threaded their fingers together. "You know, if we're spotted, the other kids may make fun of her. I think I have an idea. Why don't you call your _girlfriend_ over at the burger joint and ask her to keep an eye on Em?"

"I have not had a girlfriend since before I met you!" Dean said defensively. "I'd _never_ cheat… Oh," he said, suddenly feeling sheepish. "You mean Linda."

"Dean..." Shaking his head, Sam answered, "yeah, I mean Linda. I think... no, I know this date thing has you too worked up. We'll get home, you'll call Linda, and she and the other waitresses will watch over Em, okay?" 

"I'm really being a royal screw up about all this, aren't I?" Dean said, tugging Sam close enough he could plant a light kiss on his lips. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know, but I'm not letting you find out 'cause I'm not going anywhere." Sam was quiet for a moment as they neared the driveway. "I think you're too worried about screwing up. Emily knows how much you love her and I don't think you could screw up, not in a major way anyway. But you could land us in the dog house." He chuckled. "I mean I was right there with you, you know, when you mentioned getting shakes. Bad idea."

As they stepped up to the porch, he looked at the swing. "Sitting out here and waiting for her won't earn us any points either." Sam bet the thought to do just that had crossed Dean's mind as well. 

Giving a soft snort, Dean shook his head. "No, what would really get us in the doghouse is sitting out here, making out in the swing, when they got here. Especially after earlier this week. Mr. Bouncy."

Merely glaring at Dean and ignoring his smug look, Sam got the door open. "Let's find something to watch so that it at least doesn't look like all we've been doing is waiting on her, or that too will get reported on Facebook." Pulling his phone out again, he checked it, then put it down on the arm of the sofa before he sat down.

"I'll call Linda and get the scoop. You get a movie started and some popcorn? Put in whatever you feel like watching. Just nothing _too_ chick-flicky. You know, maybe a seven or less on the c-f scale." Dean pulled out his cell phone and checked the number for the burger place on the flyer on the fridge. He'd punched half of it in then suddenly hit 'end' and put his phone away. "You know what? I want to be able to look Em in the eye and tell her we didn't spy on her or have anyone else spy on her."

"Alright." As he got up, Sam wasn't sure how long Dean would stick with that last sentiment, but he could see that Dean was trying. As he headed for the kitchen, he looked over his shoulder. "I was thinking you and I could go out tomorrow. You know they opened up a new 'old fashioned' drive-in theater. Might be fun, or real fun," he added, giving Dean a look before ducking into the kitchen.

Dean watched Sam's tight ass as he disappeared into the kitchen, thinking about the couple of drive-ins he'd been to. Oh yes, that could be fun. He glanced at the phone number for the burger place, pulled his phone back out, and after a moment of hesitation, took it over to the couch and put it on the end table, face down. Dammit he wanted to check on her so badly… but he'd trust her with a gun and not on a date? Seemed a little hypocritical.

He could hear the popcorn popping in the microwave and sank onto the couch. "Hey Sam, I know it'll be awhile yet, but I think we need to tell her when she's thinking about going for the home run, we'll start getting her birth control. What… what do you think?" 

The sound of pots and pans falling off the counter and crashing to the floor reverberated from the kitchen, sprinkled with a few mild oaths. The only verbal response Dean got was a weak, "uh huh." Running his hand over his face and taking a deep breath, Sam tried not to think of those realities. And here he'd thought he was doing so much better, dealing with Emily's growing up, than Dean.

Dean jumped to his feet and hurried to the kitchen. He opened the microwave since the popcorn was done and helped Sam start picking up the pots and pans. "Sorry, Sammy. You know I'm always thinking way ahead about stuff. I just don't want her… getting involved with someone and hiding it from us because she's worried we'll, well, uh, freak about it. I lost my virginity when I wasn't quite thirteen. That's why I'm paranoid. I was just thinking, you know, if she ends up dating someone for a couple months, we ought to think about talking to her about it. But I didn't know if you want a different stance. No sex until you're married, or not living in this house, or eighteen, or ...whatever. I mean, I think we've got probably a year before we need to bring it up to her." Dean said, trying to sound matter of fact about it all as he restacked the pans on the counter, but added under his breath, "At least I hope to God we do."

Sam's mind was in turmoil, mostly because he couldn't help thinking of Emily's mother. She'd been underage, way too young... and yeah, they'd both had their lives messed up compliments of Dexter. "Could we... could we not do this now?" he asked. "I'm really trying to just enjoy her being on her first date. No, really," he added, reaching for the bag of popcorn. 

Dean winced. He knew that tone of voice. He knew he shouldn't plan on any fun with Sam for the night or even longer unless he did something fast. Now he was in the doghouse with Em and Sam. Shit.

"Absolutely. It's forgotten. One hundred percent, only going to focus on the popcorn and the movie, and holding your hand." Dean grabbed a couple cold beers. "Soooo, should I get out the dog biscuits or can they stay in the cupboard?" he asked hopefully.

"The what? Oh." Sam let out a soft breath. "Leave them, but no more serious thoughts tonight. Just you, me, popcorn, and movie," he reiterated. "We survived a Wendigo last month, this is _nothing_." Walking out into the dining room area, he forced himself to relax in front of the TV. advice.

* * *

They were watching a movie they'd seen a hundred times before when Poe started barking and they heard the engine of Greg's car as he pulled up in front of the house. Sam looked at his cell phone sitting next to him. It was 11:25, they were right on time. He wasn't surprised, especially since she'd texted before leaving the burger joint, but he was relieved as he didn't want to have to talk to Emily about it. Reaching for the remote, he lowered the volume a little, then automatically grabbed Dean's hand and gave it a squeeze. 

He managed to keep his eyes on the TV until the show went to a commercial break. Then it was the two of them, sitting there, waiting. As time stretched, he exchanged glances with Dean, clearing his throat, and tapping his fingers on his thigh. 

"They're just talking. She's telling him what a great time she had, or they're talking about the movie, or friends they saw at the burger joint. I doubt they're kissing or making out. I mean, they aren't even to the hand-holding stage, right?" Dean said, glancing at his lover, but his eyes went to the door where Poe sat with his tail thumping. 

Sam grimaced. As if he weren't nervous enough, Dean's running commentary was starting to make him anxious. "Rehashing the movie. Or talking about homework." Yeah, he _really_ wanted to believe that. Still, it was very very quiet. 

Poe's head tilted to the side and he gave a small whine.

Dean met Sam's gaze and they got to their feet at the same time, both crossing over to the door in a few quick strides. "You better be the one who looks," Dean said, his eyes beginning to flare dangerously. 

Sam gave a nod and brought his eye to the peephole, then pulled away. "Blocked," he muttered, his gaze meeting Dean's.

Eye's narrowing, Dean motioned Sam to step aside and gripped the doorknob. After a deep breath to steel himself, he opened the door.

Emily, who'd been standing in front of the door, turned around at the same time as Greg. "Hi Popsie," she gave him a knowing look. "I was teaching Greg how to tell directions by looking at the stars, just like you taught me," she said.

"Neat trick." Greg said. "You never know when it could come in handy."

"Time for me to turn into a pumpkin," she said.

"Huh? Oh, right. Mr. Winchester, Mr. Winchester," Greg said, giving Dean a nod, as well as Sam, who was visible a little behind him. "Night Emily. I'll catch you later," he said, taking a step back, before turning around and heading down the porch steps, whistling under his breath.

Still smiling, she slipped past Dean and searched her dad's face.

Sam rolled his eyes at the look on her face, but before he could say a thing, she started to babble, looking alternately at himself and at Dean.

"The silence is killing me, but I know you want to know, so... Yes, I had a great time. The movie was pretty good, I wouldn't mind seeing it again, you'd love it Popsie. Mmm, there were about twelve people with us at the diner and we were loud. There was a french fry food fight, oh, he wouldn't let me pay for anything but I said next time it would be my turn. He was a perfect gentleman," she added, giving Dean a pointed look. "That's about it, except..." 

"Except?" Sam asked.

"Except I'm so happy. No awkward moments, no silences, nothing, wheee... la dee da..."

Sam suddenly found himself in her arms and being spun around twice, before she let him go and grabbed Dean and started spinning him around as she waltzed toward the stairs, with Poe barking like mad and trying to separate her from Dean.

"La la laaaa, la dee daaaa." She let go of Dean and grabbed the banister like it was her new dance partner. "G'night. I might sleep in tomorrow," she announced, before she high tailed it up the stairs with Poe chasing after her, leaving her parents to stand there in stunned silence.

Dean looked after her as she disappeared from the stairwell, still singing, then turned to Sam. "We let her watch too many damned Disney princess movies when she was growing up. I mean come on! Singing after a date? A first date? It's not like you meet someone and a week later you know they're the one and you want to be with them forever...." Dean's voice trailed off, rolling his eyes and giving a Sam-like huff. After all, that was pretty much what had happened between the two of them. "C'mon let's see what she's posting on Facebook and see if we can't hack Greg's Facebook page, too. Then some serious comfort sex?" he suggested.

"Yes, please." In two long strides, Sam was in front of Dean and pulling him into his arms. "Not necessarily in that order," he said, brushing his lips across Dean's. "Make out with me, now." Parting his lips as Dean dipped his head towards him, Sam gave a satisfied sound and started pulling Dean toward the couch.

The end.


End file.
